We're Not Like Real People
by hullosweetpea
Summary: She made a promise and broke it. He knew, but everything intensifies with enough time and distance. After all, they didn't work like real people.


**A/N: My sister told me to write a story inspired by Hoizer's **_**Like Real People Do. **_**This the story that was born. I hope you enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Gatiss and Moffat**

We're Not Like Real People

The cold whipped her coat and scarf as she sat knelt in the earth. It was a risk, an incredibly stupid risk, but what's life without them? Besides, she was going to be long gone before _he _arrived. By then all that would be left would be buried in the earth. The soft soil came up easily despite the harsh winter, but the coming spring was warming up the city.  
The night covered her, but the streetlights threatened to reveal her if someone would happen to come by. This part of the city was relatively silent at night. She doubted he would come.  
She continued to dig until she believed it was deep enough. She laid the object down in the dirt and quickly covered the hole with loose soil. She stood up and brushed the dirt off her coat and knees.  
"I really hope that isn't a dead body."  
She turned around and there _he_ was. Coat collar hiked up to stop the chill of the wind, scarf tied effortlessly and cigarette in hand. She smirked and approached him. "We both know it isn't big enough."  
"I beg to differ; it could be all that's left," he replied calmly.  
"I didn't think you would really come."  
He pulled out a phone and showed her the screen. "You sent me a message, violating the promise you made."  
She gave him a flirty smile and ran her fingers along his jaw. "Now, now you could have ignored it. Why are you really here?"  
He looked at his phone. "I receive a text late at night with only coordinates. I could hardly ignore it."  
She stood on her tip toes and whispered into his ear. "I know you couldn't."  
He took a drag on the low burning cigarette, the end flaring up a bright orange as he breathed in before letting the smoke out. "Not only is this meeting putting the both of us in danger I doubt my dear brother would approve. Good night."  
He turned on his heel, his long coat trailing behind. She took a step forward and reached out for his shoulder. "Wait."  
He stopped, but didn't turn. "What?"  
"You know I won't leave. I'm here because I want to. Just because you're leaving doesn't mean I won't follow you. I know how to find you."  
"An interesting deduction seeing as I have been away for two years; you for three. We're both very good at hiding."  
She let go of her grip on his coat. "Very well then. Until the next time."  
He turned around, but she was already gone.  
-o-O-o-  
He walked up the steps towards his flat door, throwing what was left of the cigarette out onto the sidewalk. He picked the lock, having long misplaced the key years ago, and entered softly. His footsteps echoed up the hall, the stairs lightly creaking under his weight. He opened the door to his flat and stepped inside. "Using your abrupt disappearance to your advantage?"  
There was no reply and he carefully walked into the living room where there was a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting. He picked the bottle up and held it in his hands. "And where did you get this on such short notice?"  
"You know I always have my sources." She came into the room behind him, now wearing one of his dressing gowns instead of her coat.  
He placed it down on the coffee table. "No you have your people. Your insurance."  
"Your dear brother took care of that for me," she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned up, "now all I have is you."  
He forced a smile and lifted her arms off of him. "You may be under the assumption you do, but you have presumed wrong. You can choose to leave through the front door or the way you broke in."  
She laughed lightly and opened the bottle, filling both glasses. "I thought we could catch up. Enjoy the night. Have dinner."  
With a sigh he sat down in his chair and stretched his long legs out. "Very well. I am under the impression you wouldn't have left anyway."  
She smiled and made to sit down in the chair across from him. "No, don't sit there-that's his chair."  
She looked down and moved to sit on the couch. "How is he now? Married, child on the way. Simple, domestic life." She sipped from her glass, looking him in the eye.  
He coughed. "He's doing well and so is she."  
She sat her glass down. "You miss him, don't you? I suppose you do since you won't even let me sit in his chair. How do you manage?"  
"I do what I always did before he came and I will continue to do so." He stared at her, analyzing her, taking her in. She raised an eyebrow and stared at him back. The two said nothing, just staring. The fire crackled softly in the background and its light casted shadows on their faces. "I heard you were engaged. For a while. Then exiled. For a while."  
"You know quite a bit for someone who is supposed to be in hiding," he said.  
She sat up from her spot and sauntered over until she sat in front of him at eye level. "Or maybe I was hiding in plain sight."  
He stared at her, no expression on his face. She leaned in closer until her warm breath puffed gently on to his face. He didn't move. "What were you burying out there? And why did you need me to come?"  
She laid her forearms on top of his and settled in closer. "You've already figured it out. I know you. You don't need me to say it."  
"Or maybe I want to hear you say it."  
"We're not like real people, you and I."  
He stared at her in surprise at the change of subject. "Pardon me?"  
"You," she placed a hand on his chest. "And I," she took one of his hands and placed it at the hollow of her neck. "We aren't like real people. Wallowing in normal, dull lives. Even he does now. But us," she looked up into his eyes, "we don't."  
He pulled his hand away and removed hers from his chest. "You thought you won the last time. What makes you think you've won again?"  
She leaned her forehead against his. "I took your pulse. Elevated. And your pupils," she moved to whisper in his ear, "Dilated." She pulled back to look at his face. "We may never be real people, but we can act like them."  
He gently pressed his fingers onto her wrist, smirking at his discovery. "And how to you propose we act like real people?"  
She leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on his cold lips. "Like this."  
He looked her in the eyes before slowly standing up. "I have never come across a person who could outsmart me. You were the only one who came the closest."  
"And what is that supposed to mean," she asked, eyebrows arched in curiosity.  
"It means you're right. We aren't like real people." He tentatively stepped closer to her. "What are you going to do about that?"  
She pulled him closer and smiled. "Act like real people do." She stood on her tip toes and kissed him once more.  
-o-O-o-  
"Hello? Are you home? Tell me you haven't already left for the day. I sent you almost forty texts and then you didn't pick up when I called and- Jesus! What are you doing here?!"  
"Oh, morning John," Sherlock said lazily as he stretched.  
John placed a hand over his face. "No, not you. Her."  
"Now dear don't get jealous," Irene said cloyingly.  
"Jesus, I am married. To a woman. Happily married. With a baby on the way," explained John exasperated.  
Irene gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek before slipping out of the bed. John looked over at the sudden movement and turned away. "And you're naked. Please put something on. Anything."  
"I see you're still the same," she wrapped Sherlock's dressing gown around herself and trailed her fingers down the sash. She leaned down and picked up a pair of heels. "Good day, Mr. Holmes. Until the next time." She sauntered out of the room, hips swishing back and forth.  
John waited until he heard the click of the door shut. "What was that? She is dead. I saw her file. Your brother's personal file had her dead. How do you explain that? He said only Sher-." John stared at him in realization. "You didn't."  
Sherlock sat up and wrapped his sheets around him. "I didn't what?"  
John looked Sherlock in the eyes. "Your brother told me only Sherlock Holmes could save her. You didn't. Did you?"  
"What did you come here for?"  
"You're not going to tell me," asked John.  
"John, you may believe I find love a mystery, but you have been misguided."  
"_Jesus_ Sherlock, she was dead. And in your bed. Naked. What am I supposed to think?"  
Sherlock picked up his phone and his eyebrows rose. "Sounds like we are needed by Lestrade."  
"That's what I was trying to tell you," sighed John.  
Sherlock waved his hand towards the door. "I'll be out in a minute."  
"Really. Will you be Sherlock? When I met you, you told me you were married to your work. Now I find you here after shagging a supposed dead woman."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about sex?"  
John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just _no_. I'll be out in the living room waiting, unless you did something there, in which case I will be waiting on the steps." John opened the door and stepped out and began to mumble as he left. "She said find Sherlock. She said Lestrade just called. _Jesus_ when I tell Mary this is why he didn't pick up the phone..."  
Sherlock picked up his phone and saw a new picture was under an unnamed contact. He debated whether he could keep it there and risk discovery before he received a text that made him smile slightly:  
Maybe next time we'll have dinner.


End file.
